


Comfort

by Oneirogenic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oneirogenic/pseuds/Oneirogenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wish your Moirail had chosen any other object to collect into a pile and you find yourself missing Eridan's shitty wand pile, splinters and all. At least the wands were quiet.</p><p>But you try not to think about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in some nebulously-timed Meteor AU sort of place.

You want to move, but you aren't entirely sure it is worth it, at least not with a deceptively heavy, softly snoring body draped over your middle, pressing you down deeper into the pile, the plastic nubs and metal bits pressing uncomfortably into your back. You swear you can count each and every one of them—an amazing feat, really, when you consider the fact that you are fairly certain you haven't been getting enough oxygen for the past two hours and you should really have passed out by now. You wish your Moirail had chosen any other object to collect into a pile and you find yourself missing Eridan's shitty wand pile, splinters and all. At least the wands were quiet.

But you try not to think about that.

Instead, you try to carefully plan your escape. You measure half-heartedly which strategy will result in the least amount of noise and, more importantly, keep Gamzee from waking the fuck up. Again, you find yourself wishing that he had chosen anything but horns to construct this ridiculous High-Blooded nest out of, because you just really, really don't want him to wake up.

And before you can keep yourself from doing so, you find that thought impossibly sad.

But it's how things are now, and you will cope with it, because that's all you can do now. Steeling yourself, you know that you have to move and that he will wake up soon, regardless of whether or not you wake him up yourself. He rarely sleeps anymore anyway. None of you do.

It is a painstaking procedure, and you swear to God that you feel the smallest beads of sweat try to form on your frontpan as you shift slightly, trying to coax your way out from under him. You hear more than a couple horns hiss their warning calls at you as they fill with air, and you swallow thickly at the sound, cursing them. You'd think it'd just be background noise by now, but it's not. Your body tenses unconsciously and you mentally threaten to set the whole pile ablaze, even though the threat is hollow.

You don't know what he'd do if you did.

As you finally slide off the pile with only the softest squeaks, you stifle a triumphant noise and instead take in a huge breath of stale air, flexing your aching limbs and cracking your sore back. You decide to take your now-liberated body down to an alchemiter and replicate yourself something to eat, but instead you find yourself staring at the ragdoll-limp body of your friend and you feel some dreadfully ambiguous feeling when you see that he is, in fact, still breathing.

It is only with the greatest effort that you turn and walk away, knowing that you could be making yet another terrible mistake.

But you will cross that bridge when you come to it.

 


End file.
